


Only Good at Being Bad

by Superstitious



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bad Guy AU, Banter, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flirting, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Harley Keener has issues, Harley Keener is a Bad Guy, Harley Keener is a mess, Identity Reveal, M/M, MJ is a Good Bro, Metahuman Harley Keener, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Powered Harley Keener, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, villain AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25383016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstitious/pseuds/Superstitious
Summary: “What, cat got your tongue? Normally, I can never get you to shut up.” The criminal's tone was light, teasing almost as he stood over Peter.The fist to his face, however, was not.“Oh, fuck you,” Peter retorted while his head lulled to the side. He’d feel that tomorrow, super-healing aside.Peter Parker is a superhero. Harley Keener is a criminal. It started as a game between them – some harmless banter with a little shameless flirting on Harley’s part. It was never meant to go this far.
Relationships: Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Harley Keener & Michelle Jones, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, May Parker & Peter Parker, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 50
Kudos: 224
Collections: Enemies-> (Friends) -> Lovers Parkner Fics





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout-out to the wonderful @[Lira169](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lira169/works) & @[RandyQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandyQueen/works) for beta-ing this story/being my sounding board!

_“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It was too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”- Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pride & Prejudice_

“Off your game today, Spiderella. Stark got your panties in a twist?”

Behind the mask, Peter’s face morphed into a scowl as he narrowly avoided a well-timed punch. “Wow, so creative,” he grunted out while sending an elbow into his assailant’s face, hoping to wipe off the smug look that he knew hid beneath the mask. “What happened to ‘web head’? Too many words for you to remember?”

A leg shot out and swept Peter off his feet. His next exhale escaped in a ‘whoosh’ as he landed flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. Message received loud and clear.

“Peter, I detect lower accuracy and response rate than is usual for the enemy you have labeled as ‘This Fucking Guy.’ Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not the time, Karen,” Peter hurriedly told his suit’s AI while scrambling back to his feet and into a defensive position.

“Who’s Karen? Does Spiderella have a girlfriend?” Red Spectre taunted Peter from somewhere behind.

The hairs on the back of his neck sensed the blade before he saw it. With seconds to spare, Peter spun around and disarmed his opponent. “No,” he huffed out. Webbing shot out to pin both knife and thief against the adjacent wall.

“Boyfriend?”

“You _wish_ ,” Peter said through gritted teeth while the criminal continued laughing at him. His face felt significantly warmer underneath the mask. “And it’s not Spiderella, okay?”

“Wow, that really grinds your gears – doesn’t it? Besides, I think Spiderella is a _much_ better fit than Spider-Man.” In a flash, the glint of a second knife sped toward Peter. He instinctively ducked as the metal embedded itself in the wood behind him. “You always seem so…I don’t know? Helpless?” With his free arm, Red Spectre cut himself loose from the webbing.

Peter chose not to dignify the insult with a verbal response. Instead, he unleashed a flurry of punches and jabs on his newly freed opponent. Like clockwork, Peter’s hand to hand combat started getting sloppier. The worst part was knowing about the horribly timed punches, failed blocks and missed shots of webbing – but being unable to do anything about it. Something about Red Spectre just put Peter off his game every time.

Despite his self-awareness, a combination of the aforementioned ensured that Peter ended up flat on his back. Again. Something that rarely happened in the field these days.

“What, cat got your tongue? Normally, I can never get you to shut up.” The criminal’s tone was light, teasing almost as he stood over Peter.

The fist to his face, however, was not.

“Oh, fuck you,” Peter retorted while his head lulled to the side. He’d feel that tomorrow, super-healing aside.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” No X-ray vision was needed to know that Red Spectre wore a smirk beneath the mask.

An arm wound its way around Peter’s neck and roughly dragged him up and off the ground. The pressure increased as he clawed at the appendage slowly crushing his windpipe. Karen’s voice bounced around the inside of Peter’s mask, but the words didn’t register. Once he found purchase on the thief’s forearm, he heaved his body weight forward to throw the other man off him.

Soaring across the room, Red Spectre rolled out of a somersault and into a standing position. Peter took a moment to pull air back into his lungs. Mid-inhale, a foot connected with his back and caught him off guard. The kick sent him stumbling forward while the other man used Peter as a springboard, vaulting effortlessly into the rafters. He whipped around, web shooters at the ready, and took aim. This time, Peter’s webbing met nothing but air as the criminal hopped from rafter to rafter with ease.

“Too slow, Spiderella!” The masked man taunted Peter by dangling his spoils from his fingers. Catch me if you can.

“Seriously? What the fuck…” Peter mumbled while using his webbing to catapult up into the beams, intent on giving chase. Before he could begin to the distance between them, Red Spectre blew Peter a kiss. In the blink of an eye, he pushed off the rafter beneath him and dove headfirst out of the stained-glass window.

Peter swung his way over and peered out of the broken glass into the plaza below. Aside from some colorful pieces of glittering crystal, there was no sign of the thief. A few flashes in the distance caught his attention as bystanders started photographing the scene. Peter groaned and ran a costumed hand over his mask. Red Spectre got away. Again.

Tony was going to kill him.

Peter didn’t emerge from his room until noon the next day. His body needed the extra time to heal from the events of last night. On days like this, he was thankful for his job as a freelance photographer. Though it wasn’t what he had envisioned for himself at the ripe age of 23, photography paid the bills and allowed him to make his own schedule.

“DUDE! That stained-glass window was, like, over two-hundred years old! You destroyed a historic landmark.” As Peter started on his third bowl of cereal, Ned interrupted him by thrusting a screen into his face. He turned away from the brightness and shoved the device away. Ned stared at him, wide-eyed, while gingerly retracting his phone.

Peter dropped his spoon back into his cereal with a ‘plop.’ “I didn’t do it. Red Spectre did.” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and let out a poorly suppressed yawn. No matter how many broken, smashed and ruined things Peter contributed to in the pursuit of justice, he would never get over the endless feeling of guilt.

“Doesn’t matter, Pete. You’re the one on the cover of the _Daily Bugle_ staring through a broken piece of history.” Ned slid into the chair across from Peter and continued scrolling furiously. Their rickety table wobbled dangerously when Ned jostled it with his knee. “Can you get like, arrested for that?” His elbow bumped the box of cereal next, sending it crashing toward the floor below.

Before the box’s contents could be upended, Peter caught the cereal with ease, like Ned (probably) assumed he would. Mechanically, he set the box back on the table and reached toward the counter. Grabbing a glass jar off the end, Peter slid it toward Ned. “Quarter. Now.”

‘Clumsy jar’ was scrawled across the side of the glass in Peter’s writing. Years of age left the words only partially visible. Ned dug around in his pockets for a while before producing a quarter, sighing as he tossed it into the mason jar. Peter accepted the change and placed it back on the counter.

“There was a time when the clumsy jar was all you, Pete.”

“Well, we can’t all be bitten by radioactive spiders.”

Ned turned back to his phone and Peter resumed eating his cereal. He was tempted to see what slanderous article Ned read about him but decided against it. Why ruin his morning? Besides, it’s not like The _Bugle_ could say anything worse about him at this point…

Wait.

“Did you say that article was from The _Bugle_?” Anger steadily built in Peter’s chest.

“Yeah, I’m on their website now –” Peter snatched the phone away before Ned could finish his sentence. “Hey! Pete, I wasn’t done with that!”

“You son of a bitch,” Peter muttered under his breath as he scrolled, eyes frantically scanning for the photo credits.

“Me, what’d I do?” Ned exclaimed in confusion.

“What? No – not you, Ned.” Peter didn’t look up until he found the information he needed.

**Photo by Flash Thompson**

Jameson rejected all of Peter’s recent Spider-Man shots (which were super high quality, by the way) and, as someone who lived paycheck to paycheck, it put him in a bind for next month’s rent. Of course, the man would go behind his back and buy photos from Flash.

Tossing Ned his phone back, Peter stood and made for the front door. He and Jameson were going to have a very long talk once Peter reached the man’s office. He roughly tore his jacket from their makeshift coat rack on his way out. The rickety wood toppled to the floor in Peter’s haste, catching him off guard.

“Oh, Jesus!” Peter saved the rack in time but couldn’t stop the myriad of coats and reusable shopping bags that toppled to the floor. “Uh, Ned…would you mind picking those up for me? I’m really sorry but I have to go!” Peter shouted while righting the fixture. Something clattered to the floor when he put his coat on. “Ah, fuck.” Swearing under his breath, Peter bent over to scoop the trinket off the floor. He hurriedly shoved it into his jacket pocket while calling out to Ned one last time, “I’ll pick up dinner on my way home!”

Brain in ‘mission’ mode, Peter didn’t hear his flatmate’s response before slamming the front door shut. Silence blanketed the apartment again, broken only when Ned released a heavy sigh. Sometimes, being Peter’s friend felt like a full-time job. Collecting the other man’s dirty dishes, Ned set them in the sink and pulled down a clean bowl from the cabinet. While his laptop booted up, he sat down at the table and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

Seeing no one in the cramped stairwell of their apartment building, Peter hopped over the railing and jumped from floor to floor with ease until he reached their tiny, unmanned lobby. With each step toward the front door his anger fueled a litany of speeches for Jameson. A blast of air washed over Peter, cooling some of his irritation, when another tenant entered the building. She held the door open for him and Peter offered up a small smile of thanks before stepping out onto the bustling sidewalk. The mouthwatering scent of pastrami wafted from the sandwich shop that he and Ned lived above.

Just as Peter made a move to cross the street, a familiar black car pulled up beside him, effectively cutting off his path. He huffed in frustration and contemplated walking away, but before he could move a voice called out:

“Peter, get in!”

“Sorry Happy, but I kind of have somewhere to be.” Peter halted his movement and shuffled from foot to foot on the pavement. “Does Tony really need me right now, or…” Earlier irritation gave way to nerves; of course, it couldn’t wait. If he had learned anything over nine years of knowing Tony Stark, it was that unexpectedly sending a car for you meant good news or a lecture. Judging by the previous day’s events, Peter would wager a lecture.

“Sorry, kid. I don’t make the rules.” At Peter’s reluctance, Happy quickly added: “Please, just get in the car? I promise he’s not gonna give you a lecture.”

Peter sighed and opened the car door. Both men knew that wasn’t true, but at least one of them was optimistic about it.

“So, is there something you’d like to tell me?” Tony swiveled in his chair to face Peter when he entered the office. The younger man bit his lip and hovered just inside the door. Shoving both hands deep into his pockets Peter looked down at the floor, ashamed. Tony let out an exasperated sigh before taking off his glasses. He set them on the desk and rubbed his forehead. “Sit down, kid.”

Peter fiddled with the ring in his pocket for a moment more before taking a seat across from his mentor. “I’m not a kid anymore,” he retorted with no real bite.

“You were in quite the hurry when Happy picked you up. Where’s the fire?”

Tony’s avoidance of the elephant in the room put Peter a little more at ease. Propping his elbows up on the desk, he rested his chin between the palms of his hands. “I was heading over to the _Daily Bugle_ ,” the look of distaste on Tony’s face wasn’t missed, “needed to talk to Jameson about…uh…journalism stuff.” Peter waved a hand dismissively as his sentence trailed off.

“You know I can pay you for the work you do here, right? Between your time spent as Spider-Man and in the labs, you’re here longer than some of my full-time staff. Honestly, Pete, you could probably even move into the tower if you wanted to. The rest of us already live here, so why couldn’t you? That way, you wouldn’t have to deal with Jameson’s anti-Spider-Man campaign, Flash Thompson, wondering when the next paycheck is coming or how you’re going to pay next month’s rent! You’d have a roof over your head and finally some damn stability in your life. You could make some good money here, Pete, if you just let me help you!” By the time Tony finished speaking, he was practically shouting at the younger man. He cleared his throat and sat down, stunned at his own outburst. The look on Peter’s face immediately reinforced the regret Tony felt.

“Have you been spying on me?” Peter cut through a lengthy silence, “I thought we had an agreement.” His face burned hot with embarrassment. How did Tony know of his financial struggles? Peter had been so painstakingly careful…

Tony didn’t meet the other man’s gaze. Couldn’t. “Well, it’s not exactly spying…” he muttered. Peter abruptly stood and made his move to leave. “Wait! Peter, please,” the other man paused halfway to the door, “Please, sit back down. This isn’t even what I wanted to talk to you about and now I feel like I fucked it all up.”

“Will you promise to stop keeping tabs on me? For real, this time?”

“Do emergencies count?” Peter rolled his eyes but sat back down. “Okay, okay – you’re right. It’s not my place to peek into your life. I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

“So, what did you really bring me all the way down here to talk about?” He kicked his feet up and rested them on Tony’s desk. He received ‘The Look,’ but Tony made no comment.

The older man shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, now this feels a little awkward…”

“It’s Red Spectre, isn’t it?”

Opening the drawer to his left, Tony fished out a copy of the _Daily Bugle_ and pushed it across the desk toward Peter. “You’ve never let the bad guy get away before. What’s changed?”

Peter blankly stared at the newspaper. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just…taking a little more time than expected.”

“Have you at least made any headway with his real identity?”

“No.”

“Recovered any of his stolen goods?”

“No.”

“Find out who he works for?” Tony’s tone stayed neutral, but they both knew the answer.

Peter shot him a sheepish smile, “…no.”

“Pete, it’s been almost four months.”

Feeling more tired than he had in weeks, Peter rested his forehead on the cool surface of Tony’s desk in defeat. “I know.”

“You know I hate to bring up the numbers, but this is kind of hurting our stats. Especially now that Red Spectre is making headlines. Someone has to pay for the damages,” Peter grimaced, “and out of the two of us, it’s definitely not you.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Tony held up a hand, “I told you once and I’ll tell you again, just send the bill to me. It’s the least I can do since you won’t accept any of my other help.”

“Tony –”

The older man cut Peter off once more, “All I’m saying is that we can’t afford to chase after a ghost for this long. I can always send one of the other Avengers after him. Or even scrounge up some of your fellow vigilantes –”

“NO!” Peter bolted upright at the thought. In his haste to stand, the newspaper fell to the floor, taking a few pens as collateral damage on its way down. Tony’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “No, that’s not necessary,” Peter reiterated. His voice came out muffled while he retrieved the scattered items lying about. Returning to his seat, Peter cleared his throat and began again, “Between Ned and I, I know we’ll get him soon.’

“Hmmmm. Peter, are you sure there’s not a reason why you can’t catch him?”

Peter could feel his face heating up again. This time, from a completely different source of embarrassment. “Yeah, because he’s really good at being a bad guy.”

“Mhm,” Tony said slowly, drawing out the syllables. He didn’t believe the other man for one second, “I'm sure that's all it is.”

“It is – I swear!”

“Peter, I’ve seen your little exchanges. Did you forget that I have access to the video files from your suit? The same videos that are fair game for me and the Avengers to use if we needed to – oh, I don’t know – get a sense of Red Spectre’s fighting style, suit design, weapons –”

“Okay, okay! I get it,” Peter sharply interrupted once more. His voice came out an octave higher than before, “Please, just stop talking. I promise that we’re on this.”

“Alright, kid. I trust you.”

Thanking Tony, Peter hurried out of his office and didn’t stop until he was far, far away from Stark Tower.

“Ned! I brought dinner!” Peter called out as he walked through the front door of their apartment. Hands full, he kicked the door shut behind him. Immediately, the apartment plunged into darkness. Peter navigated with ease and set the food down in the kitchen before turning on some lights. His housemate was nowhere to be found. “Ned, buddy, are you home?” Peter walked down the narrow hallway toward their bedrooms and stopped in front of Ned’s door. It opened before Peter could knock.

“You realize it’s almost nine, right?”

Peter offered Ned a guilty smile, “I know. I’m sorry. I was on my way to Jameson’s office when Happy picked me up, and then I had a meeting with Tony – which was totally awful, by the way – and by the time it finished I knew Jameson would be gone so I went patrolling and –” Peter sucked in a breath. He cleared his throat before continuing, “and none of that matters because I promised you dinner to make up for missing your presentation on Thursday.”

Ned shrugged and brushed past Peter in the confined hall space. “There’ll be other presentations.”

“Yeah, but this was at Stark Industries! You were the youngest presenter by miles! You – you’re a Rock-star, Ned.”

“Pfft. I was just presenting to other analysts.”

Peter rushed ahead of his friend to start unpacking their dinner. “Doesn’t matter – it was still cool. Like, really cool. Cooler than anything I’ve ever done.”

“You can stop now, I forgive you.” Ned smiled and laughed while grabbing two paper plates from the cabinet.

Peter unloaded three full orders of fries onto the table along with two, extra-large Italian subs for himself. “For you, sire.” He reached into the bag and presented a large, sandwich shaped bundle to Ned. “One pastrami sandwich on extra thick rye with lettuce, sliced tomatoes, extra swiss and Russian dressing.”

“Thank you, good sir!” Ned said in a poor imitation of an English accent. He accepted the sandwich and unwrapped it. After passing around fries, pickles and condiments, the two began to eat in a comfortable silence.

“So, how did the meeting with Tony go?”

“Oh, about as well as you’d expect. He tried to hide it, but I can tell Tony is starting to get a little frustrated.” Peter shoved a fistful of fries into his mouth. “Besides, it’s not like I’m _letting_ him get way."

Ned shot Peter a skeptical look while throwing away his sandwich wrapping.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Hmm? I didn’t say anything.” He continued cleaning up their table, leaving only the last plate of fries.

“No, your face did. You think I’m letting Red Spectre get away!”

“Well, I don’t think you let him get away, Pete. I just think you let him get to you too much. Also,” Ned gave Peter a sly smile, “I never mentioned a name, yet you knew exactly which bad guy I was talking about.”

“Well…I –” Peter sputtered out.

“It’s okay, Pete. We both knew you’d eventually meet your match.” Before Ned could continue his phone pinged. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the device and proceeded to enter the longest password Peter had ever seen (and still didn’t know to this day). “Huh, that’s weird.” Ned’s face morphed into a deep frown as he scrolled through the data. Peter shot him a questioning look and swiped another handful of fries. “After Mr. Toomes…er...The Vulture incident, I set up some extra-precautionary alerts. This is the first time I’ve gotten a hit.”

“Weird,” The word came out muffled as Peter spoke around a mouthful of deep–fried potato. Ned began to rattle off the nitty gritty details of his extra-precautionary alert, but Peter couldn’t focus. His mind was elsewhere, still stuck on his earlier meeting with Tony. It wasn’t until silence fell over the pair that Peter realized he missed half of Ned’s explanation.

“Uh, you want the last handful?” The fries were nudged in Ned's direction.

“Nah. All you, buddy.” Ned still hadn't looked up from his phone.

Beside him, Peter’s cell phone chimed.

 **MAY:** R we still having dinner tomorrow?

 **PETER:** Yup! Might be a little late though ☹️

“Are you still going to your parents tomorrow?” Peter slid his phone off to the side.

“Yeah, my mom needs me to look at her dishwasher.” Ned sighed. “I keep telling her that building my own PC doesn’t mean I can fix all the appliances in their house, but she won’t listen.”

Peter laughed. “Well, I’ll be at May’s for dinner, but I should still be good for movie night.”

“Sweet! Hey, her and Happy’s anniversary is coming up again, right?” Ned took a few gulps of his soda.

“Yeah, six years.”

A sly smile formed on Ned’s lips. “Ten buck says he doesn’t do it!”

“Fine, then ten bucks says he does.” Peter grinned from ear to ear. “Can’t wait to finally take your money for once, Leeds.”

“Pete, you’ve been saying that for the past three years. It’s just sad now.”

“I’m tellin’ ya, Ned, I have a good feeling about this year.” Peter started collecting their empty plates. “Oh! How's your new algorithm running? For scanning the surveillance cameras?”

“I am so glad you asked!” Ned hopped up from his chair and disappeared down the hallway. He came back moments later, laptop in hand. “Now that Tony loaned me some of his tech, I really think we can start making progress. Man, this stuff is so cool – are you sure we have to give it back?”

Peter threw away the last of their dinner while Ned booted up his computer. “Unfortunately, yes. That's government property we legally shouldn't have in the first place.”

“I won't tell if you won't.” He aimed an exaggerated wink at Peter. “Using this, we should be able to compile any footage of Red Spectre throughout all five boroughs of the city, regardless of security clearance.”

“And we can go back in time too?”

“Yup! We can go back to his first sighting seven months ago.”

“Sweeeeeeeet.” Peter was beyond elated. With their newly expanded access, they hoped to find patterns that hadn’t been picked up before. Who knows? Maybe they’d even catch Red Spectre slipping up. Any new information could be the break they would need – the trail had gone beyond cold at this point. If he could just pinpoint a comfort zone, Peter and Ned could flush the criminal out.

“Not bad for your guy in the chair, right?” Ned held out a fist.

“Right.” Their handshake was second nature at this point. Peter could do it even in the deepest layer of sleep.

“Don’t worry, Pete. We’ll get him.”

While he was excited at the thought of finally putting Red Spectre behind bars, a part of Peter still ached with disappointment at the prospect. Jamming that part of him back where it belonged, he thumbed the metal in his pocket and moved his chair closer to Ned’s.

“Run the footage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! If you like the story so far, consider subscribing/commenting/leaving kudos 😘
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @Peter-Parkner


	2. Chapter 2

_“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, (s)he walks into mine.” – Rick Blaine, Casablanca_

Harley just finished executing his smoothest getaway to date when he spotted none other than Spider-Man swinging through the city. If it weren’t for literal cat-like reflexes, everyone’s favorite vigilante would have barrel rolled right into him. Instinctively, Harley patted the spot where the stolen goods were hidden in his suit. Mindful of his footing on the narrow ledge, he shrank back against the side of the building and out of sight. Even though Harley stood well concealed and thirty stories up, there was no margin for error. The merchandise was too valuable, and the man who hired him too powerful to let down.

When Spider-Man was a safe distance away Harley turned, intent on leaving as quickly as possible. He took one step forward when meta-human hearing picked up the unmistakable shutter of a camera. The sound made Harley hesitate on the ledge - curiosity piqued. Civilians on the street below also stopped to admire the web-slinging hero, who was too preoccupied to notice their gawking. Even with the distance between them, he still heard click after click of a camera as Spider-Man executed endless flips and somersaults through the air. The hero always caught himself on the upswing at the perfect moment to snap a selfie.

Harley’s intrigue grew with each photo Spider-Man took, interested in what the web head needed them for. A rush of post–heist euphoria coursed through his veins as he toed a foot off the building's ledge. It made him feel a little unstoppable and a whole lotta reckless. Harley patted the stolen loot once more through his suit, contemplating. His buyer had waited five years for the perfect opportunity to steal this necklace – what was another thirty minutes?

Spider-Man’s silhouette rapidly shrank in the distance. Pulling up the hood of his suit, Harley decided to follow the web-slinger. In a flash, he scaled the building until he reached the roof. Lacking a pair of fancy web shooters forced him to follow on foot from there. With a running jump, Harley launched himself onto the adjacent rooftop. He landed with ease and used his forward momentum to keep the pace. A few buildings later brought him only half a rooftop behind the masked vigilante.

On cue, Spider-Man’s gross ass webbing swept Harley off his feet. He found himself uncomfortably pinned to the rooftop he had been poised to jump off moments ago. Sighing heavily, he tested the restraints and realized they ensnared him head to toe. Perfect. Did this asshole realize how long it took to get the gunk off the suit after their encounters?

Despite its indestructible construction, the black material of Harley’s suit needed a delicate handwash. “Nice to see you too, Spiderella,” He grunted while he worked on freeing his arm from behind his back.

“Is it just me, or are you criminals getting stupider and stupider?” Spider-Man taunted Harley as he stood over him.

While the masked hero gloated, Harley rolled his eyes. He continued discreetly cutting through the webbing. “Yeah, yeah - whatever you say, web head." The hero studied Harley more intently, suspicious of his uncharacteristically demure demeanor. ‘ _Just a little closer_ ,’ Harley thought while furiously sawing through the sticky adhesive. “MJ is gonna kill me,” he muttered under his breath.

“What are you saying over there?” Spider-Man called from a few feet away, interrupting whoever he communicated with through the comms in his suit. Probably arranging Harley's arrest. That was fine.

“Oh, don't worry your pretty little head.” Harley continued slicing through the webbing. _Damn, this shit is strong_. By now, the process of de-webbing his suit was down to a science. Unfortunately, it still took an uninterrupted hour in the only bathroom of Harley and MJ's apartment. She remained convinced that he used the extra-long showers to jack off, and Harley was fine with that over the truth.

With a final slash, the webbing broke beneath his fingertips. Feeling his bindings go slack, Harley let out a sigh of relief. After double checking that the masked menace's back was turned, he ripped himself free and was on the hero in the blink of an eye. Catching Spider-Man off guard, Harley stabbed him in the back while slipping the camera strap from around his neck.

“Ow! What the fuck man!” The hero wrenched the knife from his shoulder and staunched the wound with webbing, unaware he had been relieved of his possessions. The sound of sirens bounced around the city.

“Don't worry darlin', it's not fatal!” Harley shot back offhandedly while leaping from the rooftop and onto the next. His lips curled into a crooked smile when Spider-Man grumbled something along the lines of ‘this fucking guy.’ Unperturbed, Harley scrolled through the hero's camera roll. “What are the photos for? Looking to switch career paths?” Though he mocked the web-slinger, he had to admit that the pictures were good.

“Didn't your mother ever teach you not to take what isn't yours?”

“Unfortunately, Momma wasn't around enough for that, sweetheart.” Harley smirked behind his mask. He hung the camera around his own neck and hopped another rooftop while Spider-Man gave chase. The police sirens were getting closer now; definitely coming for Harley. He pulled out his phone and copied the camera’s SD as an afterthought.

“I’ll take that back, thank you very much!” Soaring over Harley’s head, Spider-Man snatched his camera back with a well-aimed shot of webbing.

The distraction caused Harley to fumble his jump at the last second. ‘Fuck’ barely had time to grace his lips before Harley fell off the side of a twenty-story building.

“Oh shit!” Harley heard from somewhere above. He saw Spider-Man abruptly re-route and dive after him. Instead of feeling himself connect with the pavement below, Harley’s body jerked upward when the hero simultaneously aimed for Harley and the nearby fire escape.

“Oh my god, are you okay?”

The world spun a little bit from dangling upside down on a fire escape, but vertigo seemed better than the alternative. “I stab you in the back and you save my life? Geez, you’re gettin’ soft on me, Spiderella.”

“I’d just much rather see you in handcuffs than a body bag.” The hero was perched on the railing, just out of Harley’s reach in case he had enough energy left to stab him again.

“Kinky.”

“Jesus, you’re unbelievable,” Spider-Man spat out. He seemed a little flustered though. Harley couldn’t quite tell because of the mask, but he liked to think the man underneath was rattled.

In the alley below, two squad cars parked haphazardly as their sirens reverberated throughout the narrow backstreet. “Just two squad cars? Cute.” Harley set his blasters to stun and took aim. “It’s been fun – we should do this again sometime.” Before the hero could get a word out, he took a blast to the chest. Harley knew he’d feel that for days, even with – what he suspected were – super healing abilities.

One hand took hold of the webbing attached to his legs while the other cut through it like butter with his finger laser. Stories below, Harley could hear the cops shouting things like ‘stop right there’ and ‘surrender or we’ll shoot.’ _Typical_.

He only had a few minutes at best before back–up arrived. On the fire escape, Spider-Man stirred. Harley’s cue to leave. Still holding the webbing adhered to the fire escape, he used it to swing himself over to the adjacent building and landed with ease on the narrow ledge. The officers below started shooting, but Harley wasn’t worried since the suit was bullet proof. He patted the secret compartment in his uniform, suddenly remembering the task at hand before Spider-Man distracted him. ‘ _Shit, the client_.’ Using his gift of inhuman agility, Harley scaled the building and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“MJ, I told you I’d get the next round of groceries.” Harley peered into a completely full refrigerator, decidedly not how he’d left it that morning. He closed the door and turned to face his housemate.

“Keener, the last time you bought groceries you came home with five bags of cooking supplies and nothing on the list I gave you.” MJ reprimanded without looking up from her book: Crime & Punishment in the original Russian.

“But you liked the three-cheese manicotti I made!”

She sighed, still not looking up. “You bought three bags of almond flour and forgot the necessities, like toothpaste and toilet paper.”

Harley rubbed the back of his neck. “They were having a sale,” he offered weakly.

“I Venmo requested you for the groceries.”

Pulling out his phone, Harley typed in his password and pressed the app icon. MJ’s phone chimed from the coffee table when he fulfilled her request. “Maybe we can go together next time? Roomie bonding?”

MJ threw Harley an eye roll, but a wide smile betrayed her. “I’d say sharing an apartment with you for three years has been enough bonding for a lifetime.”

“Ouch, I’m offended.” Harley plopped down on the other side of the couch while she went back to reading. Opening foodnetwork.com, he scrolled through his saved recipes. “I see you went to the farmer’s market – you want me to make stuffed peppers for dinner?”

MJ slid a bookmark into her novel before dropping the book into her lap. “Keener, you read my mind.”

“ _Forensic Files_?”

“Absolutely.” MJ moved her book to the coffee table and curled up on the couch while Harley fumbled with the television remote.

Three years ago, Harley was kicked out of the auto shop he’d been working at in exchange for living in the upstairs apartment. Even to this day, he didn’t blame Diego one bit. For living above his place of work, Harley was notoriously late to his shifts – if he showed up at all. Crime was just more lucrative. Why would he pass up on a $15K payout to fix some trust-fund baby’s Benz?

After Diego’s eviction, Harley took to Facebook housing groups to find his next place of residence. Through it, he found MJ, a rising sophomore at CUNY who wanted to move off campus. To keep up appearances, Harley told her that he still worked at the auto shop. He was also tidy, kept to himself and an excellent cook.

They moved in together the following month.

Harley didn’t need a job or housemate since he was certifiably rich, but he found that the most successful people in his line of work had some type of alter ego. Living with someone gave you an alibi, holding down a job made you look normal and doing actual hobbies in your free time kept you grounded. It didn’t hurt that MJ liked a lot of the things Harley did too. MJ baked; Harley cooked. MJ was a criminal justice major while Harley could provide real life examples (“All theories though, of course,” he assured her). MJ liked watching _How to Get Away with Murder_ because of her pre-law interests while Harley liked it for inspiration.

It worked. They worked.

In no time, Harley’s painstaking attempts to hide his real occupation while juggling suit/tech upgrades out of a rented storage unit were well worth the unexpected friendship. The only part of his ‘illicit activities’ routine he felt comfortable doing in their apartment was working out. It was nothing for MJ to walk into the kitchen at eight am to find Harley doing high-intensity ab circuits on their living room floor. His bedroom just wasn’t big enough to serve his purpose.

This particular morning, MJ leisurely drank her tea while checking social media updates from the night before. “Whatcha doin’ there, Keener?”

“Staying fit to fight my nemesis,” Harley said through his teeth while planking on the floor. Memories of falling off of a rooftop flashed before his eyes.

MJ sipped her tea in a way that said, ‘ _sure you are_.’ She took one last gulp from her mug before standing to rinse it out. “I’m gonna go get the mail.” The dishwasher opened and closed. Slipping on a pair of pink slippers, MJ grabbed her keys from the table and headed toward the front door. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

After she left, Harley finished his last set of ab crunches and headed toward the bathroom for a shower (a _real_ shower – no suit de-webbing required). He reappeared from his bedroom twenty minutes later. By then, MJ had returned and lounged with a copy of the _Daily Bugle_ on their sofa.

“I thought you hated the _Bugle_?” He moved her long legs from the couch to the coffee table to make room for himself, plopping down next to her.

“Keener, would you mind?” MJ wrenched the newspaper away from Harley’s direction as droplets of water flew from his wet hair. He shook his head harder, for emphasis. “Why are you like this?”

“It’s just a bit of water.”

MJ flipped the page of her paper. “I do hate the _Bugle_ , but CUNY started giving students a free subscription – so why not? Keep your enemies close, yada yada.”

Harley nodded, accepting her answer. He reached for the TV remote when something caught his eye. On the front page of the newspaper, in full color, a photo of Spider-Man doing a flip in the air stared back at him. Harley couldn’t make out the headline from his line of sight, but the picture was unmistakable. Not only had he seen the photo before – Harley witnessed the moment it was taken.

Discreetly angling his phone screen away from MJ, he opened his secure files. The action had been so second nature that Harley actually forgot he copied the hero’s camera roll until now. Sue him for being a busy guy. Scrolling back through a few weeks’ worth of records, he found Spider-Man’s SD card. Hundreds of selfies littered the gallery.

“Somebody’s full of himself,” he mumbled under his breath. At the same time, MJ traded the front-page section of the newspaper for the Classifieds. “Hey, MJ, do you mind if I look through that?” He tried not to sound too eager, lest she get suspicious.

“Knock yourself out.”

Harley’s heartbeat raced when he accepted the paper from MJ. He scanned the headline, eyes frantically searching the text for photography credits.

**Photo by Peter B. Parker**

_Bingo_. Setting the paper back down, Harley tried for nonchalant when he stood and offered a lame excuse to leave, all but running to his room. MJ nodded in response, seemingly indifferent as he left. Maybe that meant she didn’t –

“Twitch stream?”

 _Dammit, he had been so close._ Cringing a bit, Harley sighed and popped his head back around the doorway. “Yeah, you got me.”

“Don’t forget to come up for air.”

Harley gave her a mock salute before retreating to his room. _One time,_ he spent ten hours in his room mapping out a heist and MJ was convinced he had a secret gaming addiction. One. Time. Harley shut and locked the door before settling into his desk chair. He sighed. Things were better this way. For everyone. He’d rather she think that his elaborate computer system was for gaming than organized crime.

Booting up the desktop, one monitor displayed the contents of Spider-Man’s SD card while the other pulled up a web browser. Harley’s hands practically shook with excitement while performing a cursory search on Peter B. Parker. Copying the hero’s SD card supplied his first solid lead on the masked menace’s identity since, well, ever.

It seemed like Spider-Man made some kind of deal with Parker. Maybe a 50/50 split of the photography profits? Strange that a superhero who worked with the likes of Iron Man would need such pocket change – but all speculation for now. If he could track Parker, then eventually the man might lead him right to the hero himself.

Getting an address, Harley began putting together a surveillance plan.

After three weeks of light investigation, Harley knew Peter’s favorite coffee shop (Think Coffee), where he lived (East Village) and who he lived with (some chubby Asian guy). Peter’s weekly routines were relatively the same: visit the _Daily Bugle_ at least three times a week, get takeout every other day, visit his (very attractive) aunt on Friday’s and, occasionally, a very nice Audi chauffeured Peter to and from Stark Tower. The visits to Stark Tower were definitely weird to Harley. At first, he thought the building served as a meeting spot for the photographer and Spider-Man, but a sweep of the tower showed the hero was absent. A curious dead end, but Peter wasn’t the target, so Harley let it go. For now.

Despite all his surveillance, Harley still didn’t know the connection between Peter Parker and Spider-Man. Not once did he witness an in-person exchange between photographer and web-slinging hero. This led Harley to believe that their correspondences were happening over email. It was the digital age after all – though there were more secure ways to communicate. No other explanation existed for how Peter got his photographs from Spider-Man.

Harley decided to push through a few more days of reconnaissance before breaking into Peter’s house, planting a back door on his computer and calling it a day. Then, he’d shift all of his efforts back to Spider-Man. Though the previous four months of surveying the masked menace yielded zero results, maybe this time would be different. Besides, it’s not like Harley exactly minded following the superhero around. It was almost a shame that he’d have to ruin the guy’s life.

Sitting cross-legged on the roof of the building across from Peter’s, Harley started wrapping up his investigation for the night when a call came in from MJ.

“What’s up?”

“When are you coming home?” She asked through a loud yawn.

Harley checked the time. “Ah shit,” he muttered to himself. It was almost 1 am.

“Yeah, asshole. I’ve been waiting up for you for hours.”

“Sorry, MJ. We got a, uh, smashed up Audi right before close.” Harley made his way down the fire escape as he spoke. “Some rich kid paid Diego an extra five hundred to stay open for him.”

Harley could feel the eye roll she gave him through the phone. “Well, I hope you have your key on you because I’m locking up the apartment for the night.”

“That’s fine! Sorry, again…”

“You owe me a weeks’ worth of pancakes.”

“That’s fine, darlin’.” Harley reached the pavement as soon as MJ hung up. He didn’t actually have his keys on him, but Harley had yet to find a door he couldn’t open. Upon exiting the alleyway, he turned left and headed back to the apartment. Two steps were taken before he witnessed the unbelievable:

Spider-Man on the rooftop of Peter’s building.

How the actual _fuck_ did he miss Spider-Man going into (or onto, rather) the apartment complex. “You gotta be shittin’ me…”

After checking to make sure the streets were sufficiently deserted, Harley took off in a sprint in the direction that Spider-Man was swinging. If he wanted to keep a low profile he’d have to stay on the ground and out of sight. Tailing the hero on foot was less than ideal without the Red Spectre suit, but Harley had been in worse situations.

A few blocks went by with nothing but the sound of car horns and Harley’s feet on the pavement. Not many people were out and about this time of night, and the ones that were thought nothing of him when he ran past. They thought even less of the web-slinging hero above. It seemed like Spider-Man had no destination in mind; probably on patrol. _How did I miss you_? Harley mentally walked himself through the night to see where the hero’s window of opportunity had been.

Checking above once more, he halted in his tracks upon realizing that the hero disappeared. Harley closed his eyes and focused on honing in his hearing. After filtering out the sounds of the city, he could make out someone talking in low tones on one of the rooftops above. Harley put nimble footing to good use by scaling the side of the building without a sound (thank god for deep window sills). At the top, he took a risk and popped his head over the side of the ledge.

“I know, Ned. I promise I won’t be out long tonight.”

_Ned? Parker’s roommate?_

“Oh, come on! You know as well as I do that I can’t just stop patrolling. In one night, a lot of bad things can happen.” Spider-Man gesticulated wildly to no one in particular. If Harley didn’t have comms in his own suit, he’d think that his Spiderella was a little touched in the head.

“Okay, _you_ might not be able to survive on ten days without sleep, but I can…No, I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home by the time you wake up. I promise…Thanks, Ned.” The hero let out a loud sigh as the other party hung up on him.

Harley was about to make his descent when another inconceivable turn of events happened:

Spider-Man took off his mask.

Right there, not twenty feet away from him, sat Spider-Man’s secret identity in all its glory. If the pure shock of seeing the hero’s uncovered face wasn’t enough to knock Harley off his feet, the fact that he already knew the man behind the mask certainly was.

“Who’s there!” In a flash, the mask was back on and Spider-Man stood up from where he previously sat on the ledge.

“Oh, _fuck me._ ” Harley’s footing slipped and alerted the hero that he wasn’t alone. Living up to his alias, he pulled one of his legendary disappearing acts (suave, like a motherfucking thief) and vanished before Spider-Man could give chase.

Twenty minutes later, Harley was out of breath and high on adrenaline as he sneaked back into the apartment via his bedroom window. No matter how jittery, he made sure that his entrance was quiet as a mouse to not wake MJ, asleep next door.

Harley jammed his finger into the power button of his desktop and grabbed a nearby notebook before collapsing into his desk chair. This night already felt like a fever-dream. Did he really just discovered Spider-Man’s identity? Via a complete accident, no less?

The dual monitors lit up simultaneously, supplying a sole light source for Harley’s tiny bedroom. Motivation pushing him into overdrive, he re-opened his small file on Peter Parker, the photographer. Soon, it would be a massive dossier on Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man. Harley’s fingers shook as they hovered over the keyboard. Every fiber in his being was on end.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged headfirst into unmasking the hero’s coveted identity.

“Alright Peter Parker, let’s see who you really are…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! If you like the story so far, consider subscribing/commenting/leaving kudos 😘
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @Peter-Parkner


	3. Chapter 3

_“I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight – watching over nothing.”- Nick Carraway, The Great Gatsby_

“Ned, I’m home!” Peter shouted into their apartment while yanking his keys out of the doorknob. “I brought coffee too.” Entering the kitchen, he found Ned sitting at their sad excuse for a dining room table. He didn’t look up from his laptop when Peter entered. Setting the drinks down, Peter’s gaze zeroed in on the small black box beside Ned. “What’s that?”

“It’s a present.” Ned shut his laptop and pushed it aside. “For you!”

Peter slid into the chair opposite his housemate, eyeing the box wearily while he passed the other man his iced coffee. “Me? Did I forget my birthday again?”

Ned rolled his eyes. “Can’t I just get you something to get you something?”

“You could, but I don’t expect it.” Peter pushed up his sleeves before eagerly opening the lid. He hesitated upon seeing the box’s contents. “A chain?” The gold slid through his fingertips while he held it up for examination, brows knit together in confusion.

“For Uncle Ben’s ring! If there was a ‘Clumsy Jar’ for every time you dropped or nearly lost that thing, we’d both be rich.”

“Oh.” Peter remained at a loss for words. He thumbed the ring sitting heavy in his pocket. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Honestly, I’m ashamed I didn’t think of this sooner. You’ve been carrying his ring around for a decade now.”

While Ned spoke, Peter slid his uncle’s ring onto the gold chain. He slipped the necklace over his neck and tucked it into his sweatshirt. It sat comfortably cool against his skin, right next to his heart. “Ned, just, wow. This is amazing. Thank you.” Overcome with emotion, Peter made his way around the table and enveloped Ned in a hug. It caught the other man off guard, but he returned the gesture with equal vigor.

“No problem, buddy.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend lately,” He sighed dejectedly into the collar of Ned’s jacket.

The other man pulled back and grasped Peter by the shoulders. “Peter, you’re literally _Spider-Man_. I don’t think putting in some extra hours saving the world is gonna ruin our friendship.”

“If we survived you being grounded for three-weeks after telling Mrs. Gutierrez you were watching porn during homecoming, we can survive everything.”

“Hey, don’t forget the new nickname Flash gave me.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter started giggling, “Penis Parker and Lewd Leeds.”

Ned snorted, “A match made in heaven.”

“What are you working on?” He took a sip from his iced coffee and rerouted the conversation.

“Ever since Red Spectre showed up, I made alerts in all five boroughs for anything that vaguely smells like a robbery. Now, I’m using the alerts to maximize data points on the software Tony gave us.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“I dunno. Might be something, might be nothing, but in the past few weeks we’ve had an uptick in some random ass robberies. I didn’t even flag them at first, but now it looks like the same group is committing all of them.”

“Explain ‘random’ and ‘group’ for me,” Peter loudly sucked the last of his coffee through the straw.

Ned flipped his computer around to show him the screen. “‘Random’ because they’ve hit everything from antique stores to Dylan’s Candy Bar. ‘Group’ since they always left a cooler and some cans of beer at the scene.”

Peter mulled over the evidence in his mind. “And you’re confident Red Spectre has nothing to do with it?”

“Positive, Pete. He only works alone and none of these were anywhere near his comfort zones.”

“Hmm.” Peter rested his chin in his hand while contemplating the scenario. “What kind of criminals are careless enough to leave evidence at the scene of the crime, but smart enough to evade police, security cameras and disable the alarms?”

“Don’t forget DNA evidence on the beer cans, too.” Ned leaned back in his chair to toss his empty coffee cup in the trash can.

After a moment of silence, both men simultaneously reached the same conclusion, “It’s a ruse!”

Ned turned his laptop back around and started frantically typing. Peter stood, clapping him on the back. “Yas best friend! Go best friend!”

“Peter, please stop.”

With a chuckle, he grabbed his phone from the table. “I’m gonna call Tony real quick to let him know what you found.”

“Have fun,” Ned mumbled as an afterthought while Peter closed his bedroom door. He plopped down on his bed and dialed Tony’s number, absentmindedly thumbing the gold chain around his neck.

Like clockwork, Peter found himself back in the Daily Bugle for his next paycheck. He fidgeted in the hideously upholstered chair while Jameson appraised his pictures. Peter hadn’t felt this proud of his photography in ages and hoped that Jameson saw their potential.

“I’ll take two-hundred for all of them. Cash.” Jameson threw two one-hundred-dollar bills down on his desk.

“Two-hundred! That’s pocket change. High quality photos like this are worth at least three-fifty.” Peter bristled from the other side of Jameson’s mahogany monstrosity.

“You know, Parker,” the older man paused to scratch his temple, “I have hundreds of young guys like you lining up outside my door to sell me photos. Do you think I keep you around because you’re special, or because your work is great? Hell no! You just, unfortunately, have the best source out of all the millennials in this goddamn city.”

“Source? Wh-what do you mean?” Peter stammered out, “I take all these photos myself.”

The older man leaned in close, as if about to tell him a secret. Peter’s nose wrinkled in displeasure when Jameson spoke; the smell of stale cigarettes heavy on his breath. “We both know that’s horse shit. If you give me the inside scoop, maybe I’ll pay you more.”

Peter sat back, disgusted at the implication. He stood up and snatched the bills off Jameson’s desk. “I know what kind of scoop you’re after, Jameson. Even if I did know Spider-Man, or who he was, I wouldn’t tell the likes of you.”

“You better watch yourself, Parker. I can make or break your career with one phone call.”

“Then go ahead!” Peter angrily shoved the rest of the photos into his backpack.

“Whatever, kid. Get outta my office.” Jameson turned away, hand dismissively waving him off.

Peter stood without another word as rage steadily mounted inside of him. He shot Jameson one last glare, but the older man stood with his back to Peter. Shutting the office door with a satisfying ‘slam,’ he all but ran out of the building.

Outside, Peter sought shelter on an empty bench and took a moment to himself, running a shaky hand through his curls. He pulled out Uncle Ben’s ring from beneath his shirt and twirled it between his fingers while the midday sunshine washed over him.

His phone rang, breaking the trance. “Tony can’t possibly want to meet already,” Peter barked out with little more venom than intended.

“Erm…no. He doesn’t,” Happy sounded a little taken aback. “I’m actually here to talk to you, but if it’s a bad time I can call back.”

“No,” Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. “No, that’s fine. I’m really sorry for snapping. There's –” he hesitated, “Actually, it doesn’t matter. I am definitely free now.” Peter rolled his shoulders and shook any remaining tension from his limbs.

“Well, that’s great to hear because I’m parked right around the block.”

“Of the _Daily Bugle_?” Peter peered around curiously, looking for the man’s car. “Are you stalking me now?”

“Can you just come to the car? Please?”

Peter chuckled and stood, making his way down the block and around the building. Happy’s car was parked in full view right where he said he’d be. The driver’s side window rolled down as Peter approached.

“So, what did you wanna about? I’m assuming it has to do with my wonderful aunt.”

“Can’t I just have a nice afternoon with you?”

“Well, you can, but something tells me you need advice on your six-year anniversary next week.” Peter crossed his arms and waggled his eyebrows at Happy from the sidewalk. “You ask me every year, Hap.”

Happy turned away from him, shifting uncomfortably in the leather seat. “You wanna go for, uh, ice cream?”

“You. Want to go for ice cream. With me.” Peter’s eyebrows were practically one with his hairline.

“Yeah.” The other man continued looking everywhere but Peter.

“Well, if you’re paying might as well. I got nowhere else to be today.” He sauntered over to the passenger side door and slid inside. “Are you on the clock right now?”

“No. It’s my lunch break.” Happy’s tone was casual, but his knuckles were almost white from how hard he gripped the steering wheel. “Pepper's in a board meeting and won't need me for a while.”

They rode together in silence until the car pulled up to Ben & Jerry’s, parking in front of the small shop. Tony Stark was special, so Tony Stark’s cars were special by extension. The Audi sported a license plate that permitted parking anywhere street spots were available – no cost. Did Happy abuse his superpower occasionally? Of course.

Ten minutes later, both men were seated at a tiny high-top table inside the ice-cream parlor. Happy lapped at a large cone of Hunka-Hulka Burnin’ Fudge while Peter ate from a small cup of chocolate chip cookie dough. “As much as we both know you love me, I don’t think you wanted to take me for ice cream ‘just because.’ Spill it! What’s up?”

Happy took a bite from his cone. “Well, like you said, my six-year anniversary with May is next week.”

“Yes, and?”

“And she's special to me. Very special to me. Probably the most special woman in the world to me, besides my mother, of course. And I, uh…I think that maybe it’s time for me, and her...well, what I’m trying to say is that I –”

“Am I hearing that you finally want to propose to May?” Peter interrupted his babbling speech, cutting to the chase and sparing them both.

Happy spluttered while floundering for the right words. “I – what – how did you…”

Peter laughed and faced the older man. “Honestly, we’ve all been expecting the announcement for, like, three years now. You’ve already lived together half a decade and dated longer than most celebrity marriages last.” Happy eyed the chain around Peter’s neck – specifically, Uncle Ben’s ring hanging from it. Peter noticed and subtly tucked the necklace back into his shirt. “Don’t worry about it, Hap. May loves you. If you ask her, she’s gonna say yes.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you first.”

“Me?” Peter pouted, puzzled.

“Yeah. You, Peter. You’re the most important person in the world to May. Marrying her means kind of, indirectly, I guess…marrying you too.” Peter pulled a face. “Oh, you know what I mean! For better or for worse, I want us to become a family in the legal and metaphorical sense.”

A smile formed on Peter’s lips. His eyes softened. “We’re already family. Always have been, always will be.”

“So…is that a yes?” Happy tried and failed to conceal how hopeful he was.

“Yes,” Peter giggled, “You have permission to ask for my aunt’s hand in marriage.

Happy released a huge sigh of relief. He swiveled on the tiny stool to wrap Peter up in a hug.

“Wait, Peter, whaddaya mean ‘we’? Who’s this ‘we’?!”

**PETER:** U take lunch yet?

 **NED:** About to now

 **PETER:** Big news!!!!

 **NED:** Meet at our usual spot?

 **PETER:** 👍 

After Happy and Peter finished their frozen treats, Peter asked to be dropped off outside of Ned’s office. In true, multinational investment banking fashion, the building they pulled up in front of stood forty stories high. A hulking, glass monstrosity that overshadowed everything in a twelve-block radius. Rivaling Stark Tower in obnoxiousness, it was glorious.

The first time Peter waited outside for Ned someone reported him to security for ‘loitering.’ From there, he wised up and started waiting across the street. The Shake Shack was much more understanding, anyway.

“So, what’s the big news?” Ned asked between mouthfuls of his SmokeShack burger.

“The big news is that you finally owe _me_ ten dollars.” Peter took a bite from his sandwich.

Ned grabbed Peter’s shoulder in disbelief, burger falling back onto his plate. “No way! I can’t believe Happy’s finally gonna do it.”

“I know, right?” He grabbed a handful of fries and tossed them into his mouth. “I also can’t believe I’ll have to buy a suit,” Peter uttered between bites.

“Hey,” Ned dropped his voice conspiratorially, “do you think you could convince Tony to buy us, like, Tom Ford or something for the wedding?”

Peter scoffed and shook his head in response.

The Friday before Happy’s planned proposal date also happened to be Peter and May’s scheduled aunt-nephew bonding time. May got off work at noon on Fridays while Peter made his own schedule. It worked.

“Hey, I’m heading over to May’s.” Peter popped his head into Ned’s room. His friend was shoving clothes into his backpack, preparing for a weekend at his parents’ house.

“Okay! I’ll see you on Sunday. Don’t forget to ping me if anything comes up.”

“Will do! Say ‘hello’ to Celina and David for me!” Peter called over his shoulder while making his way toward the front door.

Before Peter went to May’s, he made a pit stop at one of their favorite lunch spots. Despite his aunt being one of the best bakers in the five boroughs, she couldn’t cook to save her life. A skill that Peter unfortunately inherited as well.

“Chicken Shawarma for you,” Peter set a container down in front of his aunt, “and mixed for me.”

“God, you read my mind. I’ve been craving this for days.” Opening their cheap plastic-ware, the two dug into their lunch. “So, how are things going with the, uh, you know” May lowered her voice, “Spider-Man stuff?”

“It’s fine,” Peter said through mouthfuls of food. He hesitated before continuing. “There’s this guy that’s been bugging me for a while though.”

“Red Spectre?”

“Yeah.” Peter angrily stabbed his fork into a piece of chicken. “Wait, how do you know?” He shot May a puzzled expression from across the table.

“I had lunch with Pepper on Tuesday. She told me that Tony’s starting to get worried.”

“Oh great,” he rolled his eyes, “you’re all talking about me behind my back.”

“Hey, honey, it’s not like that.” May grabbed hold of Peter’s hand across the table. “We care about you and are just worried.”

Peter retracted his appendage. “Ugh, it’s just so frustrating. He’s _infuriating_.” He angrily huffed out while running a hand through his hair. “It’s like everything’s a joke to him. I corner him, he laughs. The police show up, he practically _beams_. This guy even fell off the side of the building and still had time to…to be a dick! And somehow, I play right into his hands every time.” Peter dropped his head into his hands.

“Hmm, are you sure you don’t mind him pulling your pigtails? Because it sounds like you kind of, maybe, just a _little_ bit,” May pinched her fingers together for emphasis, “might like it.”

Peter’s head snapped up, expression absolutely scandalized. “I – I do not _like_ it. He stabbed me. In the back!”

“Oh, come on, honey! You were telling me the exact same things about – what was the name of that guy? Your sophomore year of college, when –”

Peter cut off his aunt with narrowed eyes and a gaze that could kill.

“Okay, okay!” May held up her hands in surrender. “In all seriousness, you’ve been working too hard, Peter. Have you ever considered a vacation?” The corner of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile.

“Come on, May, you know I can’t do that.” Peter let his guard down a little, convinced the previous matter had been dropped.

“I think the city will be fine for a week. You should take Ned with you! You could go somewhere beautiful and tropical and party hardy.” She did a little dance in her chair, winking at her nephew.

“I love you, but please never do that again.” Peter rushed to change the topic. “What about you and Happy? Huh? Your six year is tomorrow.”

His aunt seemed to blush when Peter mentioned Happy. “Oh, yeah. He’s been kind of, I don’t know, squirrely lately. Has he said anything to you?”

“Hmm? No, the only thing he mentioned is how excited he is for your anniversary dinner tomorrow night.” Peter started chugging his glass of water, afraid to say anything else in case his face betrayed him.

“Speaking of, you’re wearing the blue tie, right?”

“Yeah, to match with your dress.” May said ‘my dress’ concurrently with Peter. They both nodded in agreement. “And then Happy’s suit jacket will match us.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect,” Peter echoed back.

“I don’t know why Happy was so _insistent_ on the matching outfits, the fancy restaurant and the lavish anniversary gift. It seems like a lot. Don’t you think it seems like a lot?” May worried the napkin in her hands.

“Oh, I dunno. I think he just wants to make the night, uh…special.”

After lunch, Peter and May sat down on the sofa to continue _The Circle_ on Netflix. Despite just eating, Peter’s endless pit of a stomach ensured that he broke out the snacks after one episode. From there, the afternoon flew by in a blur.

When the sun began its descent in the sky, Peter stood to leave. They said their goodbyes, May reminded him for the hundredth time about dinner the following night, and Peter promised not to keep wearing himself out on patrol.

“Wait!” May exclaimed, stopping Peter in his tracks at her front door. “Oh my God, I almost forgot.” She dug around for a little bit in the refrigerator before turning to Peter, two cherry pies in hand.

“Oh, sweet! Ned’s been asking me for weeks when you were gonna make more.”

“That’s why I made you two this time,” she gingerly placed the pies into a large Macy’s bag, “I knew you’d each want your own.”

“Doing the Lord’s work, May.”

**NED:** Good luck tonight!

 **PETER:** Thanks 😂

 **NED** : You’ll have to tell me everything tm!

Pocketing his phone, Peter checked his reflection one more time before heading out. He fixed his tie and adjusted the sleeves of his button down to ensure his web-shooters stayed hidden. Over the years, Peter found things easier if he just never left home without them.

The Uber pulled up to the curb as soon as he stepped foot outside the apartment building. Perfect timing. Throughout the entire drive, Peter’s stomach did flips. Even though tonight brought about good news he still hated change.

When his car pulled up outside the restaurant fifteen minutes later, Peter thanked the driver and stepped out into the night. He adjusted his suit and tie, took a deep breath and headed toward (what he hoped would be) Aunt May’s engagement dinner.

Shortly after taking their order, the server came back with a water pitcher and bottle of Chardonnay. Once she topped off their glasses with sparkling water Happy shooed the girl away, wishing to pour Peter and May’s wine himself. The man acted more jittery than Peter had ever seen him in their eight years of working together (understandably). If he didn’t cut it out though, his aunt was bound to notice that something was up.

“Chill out,” he aggressively mouthed to Happy when May turned away, preoccupied with splaying her napkin across her lap.

Happy glared daggers into his future nephew as he lifted the bottle of wine. His aunt still seemed oblivious to their silent conversation. Picking up Peter's wine glass, Happy poured him a very shaky glass before turning to his girlfriend. Despite trembling hands, he still managed the perfect pour.

“A toast!” Happy said jovially.

“To what, exactly?” May arched an eyebrow.

“Uh….to us!” Peter quickly supplied.

While May and Peter picked up their glasses, Happy moved to do the same. As he raised his glass, the crystal jostled the very real candle sitting on their table. It toppled onto its side.

A look of horror flashed across Peter’s face when his reflexes couldn’t stop the candle’s descent in time. Before they knew it, the tablecloth burst into flames before their eyes. May shrieked and threw her glass of water at the fire, but it spread impossibly fast.

“Geez, what is this stuff made of!” She frantically scrambled to get her phone and purse out of harm’s way.

Peter added his own glass to the inferno. “Probably a very luxurious, very flammable linen blend!” His eyes were wide, voice laced with panic.

The three of them jumped back from the table while the other roof-top diners scrambled to their feet around them, collectively descending upon the exit. Peter stared at Happy through the flames while the older man stared right back. “You’re the superhero! What’re you lookin’ at me for?!”

 _Right! His web shooters!_ Head on a swivel, Peter searched through the throng of fellow patrons and unhelpful wait staff for what he needed. Lifting a hand, he used his webbing to retrieve a nearby fire extinguisher. By now, the tablecloth was fully consumed. Flames were licking at the ornate wooden chairs and threatened more harm. Peter fumbled with the pin on the fire extinguisher. After successfully breaking the tamper seal, he took aim and squeezed the trigger.

In mere minutes, he had the inferno under control. Peter worked on getting the last of the flames out while Happy turned to May. He stared at her like May hung the moon with her own hands, but Peter’s aunt was too busy staring at the burnt wreckage of their dinner to notice. She was shell shocked, clutching her phone and purse to her chest.

Peter had just enough time to set the fire extinguisher down before May flung herself at him, hugging him tightly. “You’re okay, right? Everyone’s okay?”

“Now, Happy!” Peter hissed at the other man from over his aunt’s shoulder. “This is peak romance!”

“Peak romance – what?” May looked back and forth between her boyfriend and nephew, bewildered.

“Well, sweetie, the reason I wanted to make this night so special is because,” Happy got down on one knee next to a sufficiently charred tablecloth, “I wanted to ask you something.” May gasped in shock when he pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket. The rooftop stood empty now, tables deserted around them.

“Oh my god!” May’s bag landed with a ‘thud,’ followed soon after by the sound of her cell phone clattering to the ground.

Happy took her left hand gingerly in his. “I know we never imagined that a trip down the aisle was in the cards for us but working with literal superheroes has shown me that moments are fleeting. Life is fleeting.” He threw the burnt table a sideways glance to emphasize his point. “Nothing is ever truly certain, and reality as we know it can be upended in the blink of an eye. I know that if I don’t make you mine right now, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life. You’re the first person I want to talk to when I wake up, and the last I want to see before I close my eyes at night.” May rapidly blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. “We don’t have to rush – I don’t care if we wait one year or ten. I’ve waited six years for this, I can wait some more.” She laughed while Happy smiled impossibly wider. “All I want is to be your husband.”

May bit her lip, furiously wiping tears from her eyes. Peter stood off to the side doing the same. When Uncle Ben died, a piece of his aunt did too. they didn’t think the gap would ever be filled. Could ever be. Happy would never be what Ben was, they all knew that, but Peter was sure that the man before him could make something beautiful grow in its place.

“So, what do you say? Maybelle Parker, will you marry me?” Happy looked up at her, face full of hope, while Peter held his breath.

The world grew silent and waited for her answer.

“Yes! Yes of course I will!” May all but screamed into the night.

Applause erupted around the three of them, making Peter jump at the sudden noise. Happy and May shared a kiss while they shed happy tears. The rest of the servers had, at some point, slowly crept their way back onto the rooftop once the danger passed.

“Where were you guys three minutes ago,” Peter muttered under his breath. Despite the snark, he smiled as Happy slipped a diamond ring on May’s finger. Peter’s cheeks were damp with tears.

Despite the odds, their night turned out perfectly after all.

Peter collapsed onto the couch, exhausted from a very eventful dinner. He was elated to finally be out of his button-up and into pajamas. When he moved to turn on the TV, his phone started vibrating on the coffee table.

“Hey, kid!”

“Twice in one week! This is a new record.” Peter stretched out on the sofa and turned on his video.

“I’m offended, Underoos.” He cringed at the nickname that refused to die. “I’m allowed to check in on my favorite non-Avenger anytime I want.”

“Woah!” Tony's entire face suddenly filled Peter’s screen. “Tony, your phone is way too close.”

“Hmmm, what was that? Oh,” The other man pulled his phone back to spare Peter from the extreme close-up. “Sorry, I'm working on a birthday present for Pepper."

“Isn't that in February? Also, wait.” Peter held up a hand, “Aren't you still in Berlin? Where it’s, like, four am local time?”

“Well, I gotta do something to keep myself occupied while –” A heavy object clanged to the floor out of frame. Tony's eyebrows rose. “Woah! Give me a sec, kid.”

Tony stepped away to fix whatever mess he’d made and left Peter with a view of the ceiling. In the background, it sounded like the other man still rambled on to no one in particular. Peter laughed and made his way into the kitchen, briefly popping in to snag his laptop from the table. He settled back into the couch and booted up his device. Tony came back into view before Peter could even type in his password.

“Sorry about that. Where were we? Oh yeah! Sooo, how’d the proposal go?”

“Well, it almost didn’t since Happy accidentally set the restaurant on fire.”

“Wait, he did _what_! Should I be expecting a bill for something?” Peter laughed on the other end of the line. “Hold on, let me sit down.” Tony stood and walked toward his bed, project abandoned for the night (erm, morning). Peter caught glimpses of a luxurious looking hotel room as the camera moved. “Alright, kiddo, tell me everything.”

After Happy and May’s engagement dinner, everything in Peter’s life immediately decided to go to shit. Red Spectre had gone underground (again), Peter was tripling up on patrol, Jameson still held a grudge over how their last meeting ended, and Tony kept dropping not-so-subtle hints on how he needed to see progress.

Peter’s mind raced while suiting up in the tiny bedroom of his two-bed-one-bath apartment. Dialogue from the TV quietly filtered in from the living room, where Ned watched. Even after years of freely flaunting his identity around the apartment, Peter still opened his bedroom window with the utmost care to not make a sound. He closed it with just as much stealth when he got out onto the fire escape. Clambering up the rickety metal stairs, Peter quickly made his way to the roof.

At the top, he walked over to the ledge and let himself fall.

The exhilaration that came from diving off the side of a building never grew old. Every leap Peter took felt like flying – an endless high he’d never get sick of chasing. As he swung through New York, the city that never sleeps laid bare before him, spread out like a light show set to a symphony of car horns, jackhammers, and late-night parties floating out of open apartment windows.

After a brief, leisurely swing, Peter reached his intended destination. He set himself down on the roof of his favorite building in the city. The preference had nothing to do with the building itself, but rather its view. From his perch, Peter could see all of Washington Square Park. The arch was illuminated beautifully from below by color changing spotlights while fountain lights reflected a perpetual rainbow through the water.

It didn’t hurt that this particular rooftop had complete blind spots as well. Due to being significantly older than other buildings in the area, there were no cameras on or aimed at it. His secret spot was one of the few places in the city that Peter could go without being seen.

“Peter?” Ned’s voice crackled through his comms, shattering the calm of the night.

“What’s up, Ned?”

“Did you manage to fit in a nap while I was gone?”

“Actually…” For a feeling moment, Peter contemplated lying to his best friend, “no,” he admitted after a long pause, releasing a drawn-out sigh.

“Pete, this isn’t good for you.”

He couldn’t see him at the moment, but Peter knew Ned was pacing the floor in their living room. “I know, Ned. I promise I won’t be out long tonight.”

“Long enough to get yourself killed!” Reverberated furiously inside Peter’s mask.

“Oh, come on! You know as well as I do that I can’t just stop patrolling. In one night, a lot of bad things can happen.” He gesticulated wildly into the air, blood boiling.

“Yeah, and if you’re not on your A-game a lot of bad things will happen to _you._ ”

“Okay,” Peter swiftly interrupted before Ned could continue, “ _you_ might not be able to survive ten days without sleep, but _I_ can.”

Ned sighed directly into his headset, causing Peter to flinch. “Your ‘Peter tingle’ can’t though, Pete. I distinctly remember us compiling weeks’ worth of data on this senior year. Six days are your hard limit, and we’re _way_ past that now.”

Peter raked a hand over his face. “No, I know. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home by the time you wake up. I promise.”

“If you say so.” Ned didn’t sound particularly convinced. “I’ll keep my headset on if you need me. Call me, beep me – you know the drill.”

Peter chuckled. “Thanks, Ned.”

The line went dead, leaving Peter once again alone with the sounds of the city. He walked over to the side of the building and sat down on the ledge, dangling his feet in the air. Glassy eyed, Peter peered down at the world below. In a bout of frustration, he ripped his mask off. Peter ran a gloved hand through his curls and let the night air wash over him. He hoped it would be a slow night for crime.

Somewhere behind, a ‘clunk’ accompanied by soft swearing alerted Peter that he wasn’t alone.

_Fuck._

“Who’s there!” In a flash, the mask was back on. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as Peter jumped up, advancing toward the sound of the noise. He breathed heavily while his senses heightened to eleven. Peering over the rooftop, he saw a shadow move below on the fire escape.

Peter leapt off the building and gave chase.

After endlessly combing the surrounding area, he couldn’t find a trace of whoever had been on the roof with him. Peter didn’t know what he’d done in a past life to deserve Ned Leeds, but his friend stayed on comms the entire time to help him through the mounting panic. Worst case scenario: someone saw his face. With no photographic evidence though, they couldn’t do anything about it. Night had properly settled in by then, and Peter sat with his back to the fire escape. There was no way any normal person could have gotten a good enough look.

At least, that’s what Ned told Peter.

What if it wasn’t a normal person? What if it was someone else with powers just like him?

“Pete! Breathe. We’re not gonna go there, okay?”

Peter took a few deep breaths – in and out, in and out. He hadn’t realized his thoughts were being vocalized.

“You and I are going to figure this out together. I’m your ‘Guy in the Chair’ til the end. Besides, we’ve made it this far without your identity getting leaked!”

“Not helping, Ned,” Peter said through gritted teeth as he swung his way back to their apartment, patrolling all but forgotten now. He fed Daredevil some lame excuse so the vigilante would agree to extend his reach beyond Hell’s Kitchen for the night.

Ned and Peter both concluded very quickly that they wouldn’t tell Tony about The Incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! If you like the story so far, consider subscribing/commenting/leaving kudos 😘
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @Peter-Parkner


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry I haven't updated in over a month. But you know - life 😂

_“What a loss, to spend that much time with someone, only to find out that he’s a stranger.” – Joel Barish, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_

At ten fifteen on the dot, the bell above the door let out a piercing ring, announcing a new customer. Harley looked up from his (MJ's) book and focused on the girl who entered the small coffee shop. His eyes followed her from the door to the counter where she placed her order.

Nimble fingers twirled a strand of strawberry blonde hair between them as ocean eyes remained fixed on the barista. “I'll take an iced, caramel macchiato and your phone number.” She smiled coyly.

Harley rolled his eyes from twenty feet away, scoffing. He couldn't hear the barista's response, but by his sister's pout he could imagine what it was. This marked the fifth Tuesday that Emma had struck out. _Tough luck, sis_.

Her demeanor shifted from flirty to friendly while she finished up her transaction. “Keep the change,” Emma said with a wink as the right side of her mouth quirked upward into a mischievous smile.

“That used to be my move, ya brat,” Harley muttered while taking another sip from his God-awful coffee. He grimaced. Emma definitely wasn't coming here for the beverages.

After collecting her sugary drink, she dumped her backpack onto the table across from Harley. He immediately stiffened while watching Emma slide into the chair. She never stayed on Tuesdays - always grabbing her coffee and leaving. While his sister started pulling out school supplies, Harley slowly gathered his (MJ's) book along with the rest of his things. He pulled the baseball hat down lower and pushed black rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Emma ducked under the table to find an outlet for her phone charger, which Harley took this as his cue to leave. He stood and made for the front door. The bell rang. Without a second glance, Harley stepped out into the cool morning.

Only after reaching the other side of the street did Harley chance a final glance at the café, where blue met blue through the spotty glass window. A look of recognition flashed across Emma's face just before Harley turned away. He sighed and disappeared into the throng of people littering the sidewalk. One day, he’d be able to sit across from her without fear. To hug her, to tell her how proud he was of her. Tell her that he loved her. One day, Harley wouldn’t be a danger to his family anymore.

“See ya same time next week, Em,” He muttered into the sea of passerby.

A prominent ‘thump’ jolted Harley awake. “Jesus Christ, MJ!” He bolted upright, back slamming into the hard wood of their kitchen chair. His eyes flitted toward his laptop screen to make sure it was in sleep mode. “What time is it?” Harley’s voice came out rougher than normal from his impromptu nap. He fixed his glasses, askew on his face.

“Two.” MJ slid into the chair adjacent from his. Harley rubbed the fogginess of sleep from his eyes and dragged a hand through his hair. Meanwhile, MJ took in his disheveled appearance and prominent dark circles. “Are you sure everything’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, just puttin’ in some overtime.” A yawn escaped his lips.

“Is Diego overworking you? Because, per Section 161 of The New York State Labor Law –”

“Everything’s fine,” Harley sharply cut her off.

MJ’s jaw set. She was displeased, but he knew the matter wouldn’t be pursued further. Sensing she was about to speak once more, Harley abruptly closed his laptop and headed toward his room. “I’m heading out. Text me if you want me to pick up anything.” MJ’s response was swallowed up in the banging of their front door.

Between his sister’s new favorite pastime and gathering intel on Peter Parker, a depressing amount of Harley’s free time went toward hanging out in hipster coffee shops. Harley didn’t even drink coffee (unless MJ offered to make some – then an exception could be made). The only silver lining was that Peter’s cafe of choice was closer to home than Emma’s. In no time, Harley reached the illuminated ‘Think Coffee’ sign. He checked his watch; fifteen minutes before Peter walked in to grab his coffee before heading off to the _Daily Bugle._

Clockwork.

While waiting in line, Harley mulled over what he currently knew about the superhero and his alter ego. Peter worked a menial job when Tony Stark was more than capable of footing the bill, something Harley still couldn’t wrap his head around. The man couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as Jonah Jameson. Between Tony Stark’s checkbook and Ned Leed’s salary, Peter and Ned should’ve been renting a penthouse on the Upper West Side. Not a shoebox in East Village.

“What can I get for ya, hon?” An overly chipper cashier called from one register down, dredging Harley from his thoughts. A new face behind the bar – had to be one of the new hires.

“Uh…” Harley spent so much time on Parker that he hadn’t thought about what he wanted. “Iced coffee. Small.” What demon possessed him to order coffee instead of his usual green tea – Harley would never know. He made his way over to the second register while fumbling to release his wallet from the confines of his jacket.

“Sure! Are you interested in our cold brew or nitro? We also got a fresh shipment of oat milk in, if that’s your thing. You look like the type of guy who’s into that.”

Harley stopped thumbing through his cash to slowly look up at the barista, an incredulous expression on his face. It was almost enough to make him change his order. However, a Keener never backed down from anything. “Coffee. Iced. Small.”

After a brief staring contest, the girl behind the counter began stabbing a perfectly manicured nail into the buttons of her register. “Sure thing, hon.” Her lips pursed when Harley deposited a ball of crumpled up bills into her waiting hand. “One small iced coffee coming right up!” The fake smile was back in the blink of an eye.

“Thanks.” Harley’s grin mirrored the barista’s as he accepted his change. He shuffled over to the ‘pick-up’ counter to await an overpriced drink, but not before giving the cashier a dirty look when she turned her back.

“First time here?” An amused voice asked from somewhere behind and to the right of Harley.

He looked up from his phone, eyes crinkling in confusion while scanning the surroundings to see who Disembodied Voice was addressing. Seeing no one else around, Harley assumed it was him. “You talkin’ to me?”

Time stopped the moment he turned to face his addresser. The air was zapped from Harley’s lungs. At exactly two-forty on a Wednesday, Harley found himself face to face with Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man. Peter Parker, who was not only ten minutes ahead of schedule, but also five inches shorter than Harley imagined. He must have come in while Harley placed his order.

The man in question gave an exaggerated sigh, “No, De Niro, I’m talking to my imaginary friend.” A strong eye roll followed shortly after.

Harley tracked the movement while staring into the doe-brown eyes of his (alleged) archenemy. After a beat too long, he retorted, “Alright, slick – how do you know I’m new here. What if I’ve been comin’ in every day for a month straight and you’ve just insulted me?”

 _Was Spider-Man chatting him up? Even worse – was Harley entertaining it?_ Granted, Peter didn’t know his identity, but still – the principle of the matter.

“Please,” Peter scoffed, “Shannon’s question went way over your head.”

 _Shannon – what the fuck?_ Harley did a poor imitation of a buzzer. “Wrong. A nitro is foamy as fuck, cold brew has extra, extra ice and a red eye makes you look like you’ve been rippin’ bongs all day.”

“Eloquently put, but still incorrect.” Peter looked up at Harley through thick lashes with a lopsided grin. It seemed like he had something else to say on the tip of his tongue.

“Order for Harley!”

The spell broke in an instant. Harley took a step back, unaware of how close he had gotten to the other man. He swiped his overpriced, iced beverage from the counter.

“Harley, hmm? My name’s Peter.”

Harley clutched the ice coffee tighter to his chest when Peter extended a hand. The gesture was innocuous, inviting even. Dangerous. Harley didn’t shake the outstretched appendage, instead flashing Peter his most charming smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I have a feeling we’ll meet again soon.”

With a wink, Harley was out the door and down the street.

“Move over, _Michelle_.” Harley gently nudged her toward the other side of the couch to make some room.

“I’ll move, _Harland_ , when you put some clothes on.” She refused to budge, continuing to watch the lecture that played on her laptop.

“That’s not – you know what? Never mind.” Harley sighed. “It’s stuffy in here, okay? Let me be shirtless in my own house.”

“I’m not the one who decided to storm off and then come back to take a forty-five-minute-long shower,” MJ shot back. “I can hardly breathe from all the steam in here.”

 _Alright, fair._ Harley left the house in a mood. A mood that wasn’t helped by literally running into the object of his surveillance. He wasn’t supposed to make contact for at least another two weeks, so the master plan needed to be revised ASAP. Sue Harley for doing his best thinking in the shower. “There, happy now?” He begrudgingly opened the windows in their living room. “Besides, the ladies would kill to see this view.” Crudely, Harley gestured to his naked torso.

MJ audibly groaned and ran a hand over her face. She eyed the other man’s form up and down. After such a long stretch of domesticity, she was desensitized to the scar tissue littering Harley’s torso. “Too bad you don’t like the ladies,” MJ deadpanned. Pushing her things to the side, she scooted over on the couch to make room.

“What’re we watchin’?” Harley unceremoniously plopped down next to her, slinging one arm over the back of the couch.

“Oh, it’s just part of my program’s lecture series. We get extra credit for doing a report on one of them at the end of the semester. I can turn it off, if you want.”

MJ moved to close her laptop, but Harley stopped her. “Nah, it’s cool. Plug it into the HDMI so we can watch on the big screen.” He gestured to their TV.

“Are you sure?” She raised a singular eyebrow. “I don’t want to bore you on your day off.”

 _Oh yeah, I’m supposed to have a real person job._ With a Cheshire cat smile Harley turned to MJ. “Trust me, crime is never boring.”

After MJ’s lecture ended Harley made himself a quick dinner (pizza bagels. So. Many. Pizza bagels) before retreating to his evil lair. One hand balanced his dinner plate while the other carefully closed the bedroom door behind him. Gingerly setting the food down on his desk, he booted up the desktop. Harley collapsed into his chair as the blue loading screen lit up his small bedroom. With an exasperated sigh, he dropped his head into his hands.

Nothing had gone according to plan. Harley was supposed to unearth all the skeletons lying in Spider-Man’s closet to irreparably ruin his public image. He was supposed to find information so juicy that Tony Stark himself wouldn’t stand a chance in Hell at bailing out the hero. Also, said skeletons would make Harley feel a hell of a lot better while auctioning off the web slinger’s identity to the highest bidder.

The only problem was that, so far, Harley had absolutely nothing on Peter Parker. Neither man nor superhero had the tiniest drop of red on their ledger to convince Harley that unmasking him was the right decision. He sat, immobile, in his desk chair while staring at his screen. In front of him lay Spider-Man/Peter Parker’s every move over the past month.

Peter never took a dime from Stark for his superhero side-gig, left Aunt Hottie money at every turn (even if he had to hide it around the apartment so she’d accept), and never seemed to have an ulterior motive for anything. He wouldn’t even accept baked goods in exchange for his assistance from the old ladies that lined up for Peter all over the five boroughs. If the man had ulterior motives, Harley had a hell of a time finding them.

Spider-Man’s hobbies consisted of hosting fundraisers for, and helping out at, children’s hospitals, afterschool programs, Feeding America, homeless shelters – the whole nine yards. You name it, Spidey showed up and never asked for anything in return. Last month, the asshole even exposed an entire drug ring of corrupt cops and _didn’t take the bribe_ (Harley would’ve taken the money and ran. Easy way to make half a million in an afternoon, if you asked him).

On top of all of the above, he witnessed Spider-Man rescue a kitten from the drainpipe of some girl’s apartment building two weeks ago. A _kitten_ , for fuck’s sake. Why did Spider-Man have to be a goddamn walking cliché?

In conclusion: Peter Parker was a stand-up guy who genuinely wanted to protect New York from people like Harley.

Images of Peter’s incredibly soft looking curls, full lips and puppy dog eyes flashed across the forefront of his brain. Harley already knew Peter was attractive from his surveillance-at-a-distance method but being less than a foot away from the other man without the suit between them was a different story. Harley banged his head on the desk a few times before sitting up and raking a hand through his hair. He took a few deep breaths for good measure too. Nothing could ever be easy, could it?

MJ dropped the Sunday paper in front of him, nearly taking out Harley’s morning coffee with it. “Why do you subscribe to this crap? I thought you hate the news.”

“Same reason why you have a _Daily Bugle_ sub.” Harley took a sip from his mug while rifling through the stack for the classifieds. MJ slid into the seat opposite him. Upon finding the proper section, Harley slipped on his glasses and turned to page C4. A few ads in and his gaze zeroed in on one particular advertisement:

_Important parcel lost! Recovery assistance needed ASAP. Contact @212-200-7197._

Bingo. Harley liked to keep things old school, and no better trick existed than communicating via the classifieds. Why deviate from a classic?

Downing the rest of his coffee in one swig, Harley rinsed out his mug and retreated to his bedroom, newspaper in hand. He was itching to get back in the Red Spectre suit after a week and half of no jobs with a half-decent pay. Whatever the gig, it ensured a handsome compensation since only Harley’s top clients communicated via the newspaper (top clients being The Rich Scumbags of New York City).

Double checking the ad, Harley instantly recognized the call number. Throwing his personal cell onto the bed, he fished his work phone from its secret compartment in his desk. The client in question happened to be #3 on speed dial. She picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, Maria. Saw you have a job for me.”

“Actually, it’s for one of my favorite shareholders. I hope you’re taking referrals…”

In light of this new customer needing a rush job (and willing to pay extra), Harley devoted the following week to heist planning. MJ still believed that Harley worked a menial, full time job so he was forced to do the majority of preparations in his shitty storage unit rented out of the Bronx. Since the Wi-Fi connection held steadfast, the lack of AC or proper insulation could be overlooked.

No matter how seasoned a criminal Harley was, he still felt guilty making MJ worry. She was one of the few people in his life that showed genuine concern for his wellbeing – especially during the long nights spent away from their apartment. In the long run, Harley did it all for them (at least, that’s what he told himself when alone with his thoughts).

Besides, this particular job seemed easy enough. An unnamed millionaire needed the original, watermarked blueprints for Global Chemical’s storage facility that were kept under lock and key. Easy snatch and grab. At least, easier than the time his benefactor would have doing God knows what with the blueprints.

_(“I want them to know it was me.”_

_“I’m sorry, you want me to trip the alarms?” Harley tried to even out his tone for the sake of professionalism, but a hint of surprise slipped through. He really hoped he wouldn’t regret picking up this job at a later date._

_“Yes. I want you to trip all of the alarms before you leave. Blow up the damn building if you have to – I don’t really care. Will that be a problem?”_

_“No, it’ll just cost you extra.”_

_“I think that can be arranged.”)_

Ten days later found Harley $15,000 richer (with the promise of an additional $15,000 upon job completion) dangling from a very thick rope through the skylight above. By his calculations, this particular janitor’s office sat right above the secure room his blueprints were in.

Harley dropped the work bag to the ground before unhooking his D-clip and following suit. Unzipping his duffle, he delicately extracted the needed tools to remove and replace parts of the tile flooring.

“Time to get to work,” he muttered into the silence.

“Literally, how _the fuck._ I just tripped the alarms ten seconds ago,” Harley spat out through gritted teeth, running a gloved hand over his mask. He tightened the strap of his blueprint tube and hugged it closer to his chest. No way was Peter-Parker-Spider-Man getting his payday. Not today.

The hero in question shrugged, unmoving from where he leaned against the adjacent wall. “Happened to be in the neighborhood.”

Scoffing, Harley retorted, “Somehow, I highly doubt that,” while making for the exit as Spider-Man stared after him. The only perk of intentional alarm tripping was that, more often than not, you could make your escape through the front door. Spider-Man or no Spider-Man, nothing but a pair of steel bracelets could make Harley deviate from his timetable.

Halfway to the door, he noticed the hero wordlessly keeping pace from behind. Harley never broke stride but continued casting suspicious glances over his shoulder. The longer the other man went without making a move, the stronger Harley’s reservations grew.

Upon reaching a safe distance from Global Chemicals, he rounded on the hero. “What are you, my personal FBI agent now?”

“Nope. Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man trying to catch a…” The other man eyed the blueprint case slung over Harley’s shoulder, “map thief?”

Harley rolled his eyes and continued on. From prior surveillance, he knew there was a twelve-minute window to get to his exit point before the NYPD showed up. “It’s not a map, genius. They’re blueprints.” _Fuck._ Harley regretted the slip up shortly after the words left his mouth. There was definitely a Cheshire smile beneath the creepily large eyes of Spider-Man’s mask. “Listen, Spiderella, don’t think you’re hot shit just because you got me to tell you what’s in the case.”

The hero’s smug smile grew (at least, Harley imagined it did). “Oh, you mean this case?” Spider-Man dangled the leather in front of him.

“What the – how the fuck? _When_ the fuck?” Harley unsheathed two knives from his suit in the blink of an eye. Super hearing picked up sirens in the distance; the cops were at least five minutes out. He advanced on the hero.

“Unlike you, my sticky fingers are literal.” The other man took a step back to match Harley’s step forward.

“As much as I love our encounters, now’s really not the time, Spiderella.” He lashed out at Spider-Man’s face with an extra shiny, freshly sharpened knife.

The blade missed by a fraction of an inch. Spider-Man jumped backward just in time to avoid a second knife stroke to his abdomen. “Geez, you don’t mess around, do you?” He shot off a round of webbing in the thief’s direction.

“Not when there’s money on the line, darlin’.” Harley sliced through the webbing with ease. _Thank God he thought to sharpen his blades this morning_. The only way he could get the case back was by letting Spidey get close, and to do that Harley needed to lull the hero into a false sense of security.

Blaring sirens were more apparent in the background. He sighed. A very believable and very quick sense of false security.

On Spider-Man’s next kick, Harley let it connect. The air whooshed out of his lungs as his ribs took a beating. Dramatically, he let one of his knives fall to the ground while slipping the other back into its suit compartment. During the next round of punches, Harley only blocked sixty percent of them. He was extra proud of himself for resisting the urge to back spring when the hero swept his legs out from under.

“That was almost too easy,” Spider-Man said, tone weary, stance hesitant, as he held Harley hostage via web shooter.

“What, you’re seriously gonna complain about my method of capture?” Harley huffed out, incredulous on the ground. “You’ve only had a hard-on for me for six months now.”

(It was actually closer to ten, but Peter would take that admission to his grave.)

Annoyingly, Spider-Man stood just out of reach for Harley to make an ironclad play for the case. The hero turned his head in the general direction of police sirens. They were only a few blocks away now. Harley’s window of opportunity for a flawless ( _okay, semi-flawless_ ) escape dwindled rapidly.

“Uhhhh – don’t you wanna, like, handcuff me or something?” He held his arms out for emphasis.

“ _You_ want me to handcuff you? Are you actually surrendering right now?”

“Yeah, yeah. I wanna make the police station by golden hour so my mug shots look good at least.” Harley waved him off.

“That’s not – you know what, you’re right. I’m not gonna complain about you wanting to go to jail.” Spider-Man moved in to haul Harley off the ground.

Shimmying his knife from where it slid into the sleeve of his suit, Harley rammed his blade into the hero’s side while slipping the case strap off his shoulder. The wound was nowhere near fatal, but definitely enough to slow the other man down.

“I thought we were finally getting somewhere,” Spider-Man grunted out. He pulled the blade from his side and dropped it to the ground. Taking a step toward Harley’s retreating figure, he stumbled on the pavement.

“Don’t worry, Spiderella, I just like playing hard to get.” Harley paused halfway up the fire escape, blueprints safely back in his possession. “The chase makes capture all the more sweeter.”

While police sirens closed in on their location, Harley slipped away into the sunset.

Thirty thousand dollars richer, Harley didn’t expect to find himself back in a café so quickly. Don’t ask him which because he couldn’t tell you and didn’t care enough to find out. The unexpected downpour trapped everyone inside and, sure, maybe iced coffee had grown on Harley.

Clad in grey sweatpants and a black long sleeve, he sat at a two-person table in the corner with his back to the wall and screen angled away from prying eyes. To the outside world, Harley was a normal college student. In reality, he remotely tapped into security feeds while running surveillance for his next client. Mid-note taking, a sudden ‘ping’ broke his concentration. Harley pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and grabbed his cell phone.

 **MJ:** Can you pick up eggs on the way home? We out

 **HARLEY:** Use mine

 **MJ:** Those were yours 😂

 **HARLEY:** Big oof

When he dropped his cell back onto the table, the bell above the front door rang out. Harley looked up from sheer force of habit. His eyes widened at the sight before him. By sheer dumb luck, Peter Parker stood in the same random café that Harley sought shelter from the rain in.

Peter spoke on the phone with somebody while thumbing through photos on the camera around his neck. Camera and outfit were considerably soaked, but the other man didn’t seem particularly perturbed. He hovered by the front door, contemplating the line that stood at least seven people long. The rain had probably caught him a few blocks away.

Peter looked impatient. Harley secretly hoped he wouldn’t leave.

Despite the other man’s drowned rat impression, Harley thought the disheveled look was a good one on him. Throughout all the surveillance hours put in, this was the closest he’d come to the man inside the Spider-Man suit. Taking in the once curly hair plastered to Peter’s forehead, beads of water dripping down his face, down his neck, Harley’s stomach did flips for the first time in ages.

How terribly inconvenient.

When Peter scanned the room, he briefly locked eyes with Harley. He wondered if Peter remembered their last encounter at Think. Did their five-minute exchange leave an impression on the photographer by day, superhero by night?

Apparently following that train of thought, Harley’s body began moving of its own volition. He stood up while his hands packed away his belongings with superhuman speed before discreetly sliding into line behind Peter. It didn’t matter that Harley had already been in the café for two hours. Or that this would be his second cup of coffee. Lost in planning out what his next move would be Harley missed Peter turning to face him.

“How did you know my name?”

Confusion snapped Harley out of his reverie. “Excuse me?” The unexpected hostility in Peter’s voice left him gobsmacked.

“The first time we met, at Think. You said, ‘See ya ‘round, Peter Parker,’ even though I never told you my full name. So, I’m only gonna ask you once,” Peter’s voice dropped dangerously low. He spoke slowly, enunciating every word: “How do you know who I am.”

Harley’s eyebrows shot up while he floundered for a response. “What? You’re crazy. I never said that. Hell, I barely even remember what I said to MJ this morning.”

“Don’t fuck around – you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“You remember every word of every conversation you’ve ever had?” Harley scoffed. “Wait, are you following me or something?”

Peter huffed impatiently. His threatening façade dropped a few inches. “Yeah, and you’re a hard guy to find. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you do it on purpose. Any criminal activities I should know about, Harley?”

Rain be damned, Harley gripped Peter by the elbow and dragged him outside. The shorter man made a noise of surprise at the sudden manhandling. “You wanna say that a little louder for the people in the back?” Harley hissed once they were alone in the neighboring alley, steps away from the main sidewalk.

Peter yanked his arm from Harley’s grip, moderately surprised at how strong he was. The storm had tapered off into a light drizzle. “Just answer my question. Who are you? Who sent you?”

A small part of Harley’s conscience acknowledged that their exchange was risky to have in plainclothes, but the majority remained invested in the shitshow his day had become. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe the strain of hiding his every move, burnout from surveillance, the thrill of taking a leap of faith, but, before Harley’s brain could process, his mouth was blurting out:

“Oh, you know. I’m just a lowly map thief with a proclivity for knives, sent after items for the highest bidder. Apparent archenemy to Spider-Man. Guy’s a real jerk, you know.”

Peter’s eyebrows knit together in confusion before the realization slowly dawned on him. “You!” He pointed a finger. “What the – holy…” Peter looked him up and down. Harley took the scrutiny in stride even though his mind was screaming that this was a _very bad_ idea. He stood still as a statue until Peter spoke again, “ _You’re_ Red Spectre. The ghost of Midtown. Thief for hire. No known alias or unmasked photograph in any government database.” Peter leaned against the brick wall of the café for support. “Jesus.”

“Yup.” Harley popped the ‘p’ while trying not to look too smug.

“How’d you figure out it was me?” Peter pushed himself off the wall and started pacing the alleyway. “Have you been following me? Stalking me?” He paused his pacing to appraise Harley once more. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

Harley opened his mouth to respond (something along the lines of ‘I’m pretty sure you’re stalking me this time around’) but was cut off.

“Wait, back up. I’ve been chasing you for the better part of a year. Why the hell would you say anything to me now? Or ever!”

“Well –”

“Hold on, how can I even trust you!” Peter raked a hand through his partially dry locks and rounded on Harley. “How do I know you haven’t sold me out to the highest bidder already. What if this is just some sick, gloat-y goodbye.” Peter’s eyes flitted around the rooftops like snipers would appear at any minute. He appeared externally how Harley currently felt internally.

“Peter.” He grasped the other man by the shoulders of his thin sweater, shaking him a little. “Breathe.” Harley refused to continue speaking until Peter took some deep breaths. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but you have to trust me when I tell you that your identity is safe. As for why – I don’t know.” He hung his head in defeat.

Releasing the other man, Harley turned away. The rain had stopped completely, leaving nothing but overcast in its stead. They both shuffled their feet in the dirty gravel. Neither man said anything for a long while.

“I don’t know,” Harley repeated, barely above a whisper. When he turned back around, blue met brown. Peter’s eyes were trained on Harley with an intensity he’d never been the recipient of before. “Who knew Spider-Man would be such a hot mess.” Harley shot him a tentative smile, trying to cut through some of the tension.

Peter rolled his eyes but returned the gesture. “Who knew Red Spectre was some hipster millennial.”

Harley feigned offense. “You wound me, Parker. And just when I thought we were friends.” Peter laughed, a sound that Harley knew he wanted more of. A comfortable silence settled between them.

“Peter Parker.”

“Harley Keener.” This time, he shook the hand that was offered. Regretfully, Harley let go of Peter’s hand and started backing away. “I’m sorry but, I really have to go.”

During peak rush hour on a crowded New York City street, he slipped away into the crowd, leaving a smiling (but mildly confused) Peter in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the read! If you like the story so far, consider subscribing/commenting/leaving kudos 😘
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @Peter-Parkner


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